Don't Touch Me
by Atarah Derek
Summary: Techrat contemplates how he came to be where he is. Exposition. Set after the events of Outrage of the Zygons, by Rich Morris. SPOILERS! If you haven't read that comic, do so now before you read this.


**Don't Touch Me**

**Summary:** Techrat contemplates how he came to be where he is. Exposition. Set after the events of Outrage of the Zygons, by Rich Morris. SPOILERS! If you haven't read that comic, do so now before you read this.

Techrat and the 6th Doctor. Drama/Sci-fi.

**Disclaimer:** Hasbro owns Jem and the Holograms, the BBC owns Doctor Who, and Rich just plain owns.

* * *

He ran until he was out of breath, which, for a man of his natural stamina, was quite an accomplishment. When he finally sat down to breathe, he only ended up clutching his abdomen before doubling over and dry heaving the nonexistent contents of his stomach. What did come out of his mouth on the last heave was a small cloud of leftover regeneration energy. Finally Techrat's heaves subsided, and he sat back, resting his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. His hearts were pounding in his ears and his head was spinning at the events that had transpired over just the last few hours since the Jem concert. He had come so close to leaving this Rassilon-forsaken rock that he could taste it, only to be rejected yet again by one of his own race, then punched off a scaffolding by a member of that infuriating group of harpies known as the Misfits. Taking that tumble had resulted in his regeneration, and the Time Lord's only consolation was that it hadn't been Pizazz who had done the honors. Not that he could honestly say he hated Roxy any less. In fact, the only one of them who hadn't done everything in her power to try to drive him to homicide was Stormer. And even then there were plenty of times he'd wanted to throttle her along with her band mates, using one of his many robots so that he wouldn't have to get near the women himself.

After finally catching his breath and reducing his heartsrate to a much more manageable 120 double beats per minute, Techrat took stock of his new features. It was dark, so it was hard to make out what his present hair color was, though it seemed to be at least as long as it had previously been, and somewhat lighter in shade. And it was present on both sides of his head, not just the right. His nose seemed to be shaped differently, as was his jaw. His skin looked to be about a shade darker than previously, and he was pretty sure he was just a little bit taller. He felt his neck and chest to make sure he hadn't suddenly changed sex. Though it was exceedingly rare for that to happen unless a Time Lord was practiced at choosing their next form, it was entirely possible. And judging from what the Corsair had looked like the first time Techrat had seen "her" as a woman, the idea of regenerating into the opposite sex, even in controlled conditions, was not one that appealed to the exile. Fortunately he was still a he, although he suddenly decided he needed a bathroom break, just to be absolutely certain.

After a few minutes of rest, Techrat started walking. He headed further out of town, not paying much attention to where he was going, although he did note that he was gravitating toward his lab. Part of him called him out on his foolishness in returning so soon to the old haunt, what with the Misfits still out for his blood after the explosion he'd rigged on Callor's ship at Stinger Sound. But the other part of him didn't particularly care, especially now that he had a different face. Besides, he needed a change of clothes, and he had no money to just buy new ones. So Techrat wandered in the general direction of home, such as it was. As he wandered, he contemplated how he'd ended up in this sorry state. He absentmindedly rubbed his right forearm, just before the crook of his elbow, where his "prison" tattoo, the dragon of exile, had previously been located. He had no idea if it was still there and didn't care much to look. Even if it had vanished with his regeneration he was still in the same situation he had been when he received it.

Ten years now he had been stuck on this backwater planet among these insufferable humans. He had no idea why the Time Lord High Council had selected this place as his prison, other than that there must be someone on the council who really hated him. And it wasn't as if he was actually guilty of any crime deserving of exile. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And if he never saw the Rani again for as long as he lived (again, quite an accomplishment in both their cases, all things considered), it would be too soon. He was pretty sure there was no member of the class of '92 he hated more than her right now. Well, at least not up until the Doctor had showed up and ruined any chance he had of escaping earth. Leave it to the ever-competitive Theta Sigma to edge the Rani out for the clearly coveted Most Hated Person of Techrat's Life award. Anger welled up within Techrat all over again, and he kicked a nearby empty beer can, sending it flying quite a distance. It was literally the only object around for him to abuse, save for the rocky ground.

Techrat's memories drifted back to the first time he'd arrived on earth. His forced regeneration had left him looking like one of the Goth-emo kids he saw walking around the downtown area of the city he'd found himself in. At least he didn't seem to stand out. His smarts alone helped him pick up the local language without the aid of a TARDIS translation circuit, although he held an odd accent for the first several years on the planet. He'd sustained himself by going from job to job working as a technician for various entertainment companies, saving up any money he could to buy tools and parts to hopefully build his own time and/or space capsule. Even a working vortex manipulator would have made him ecstatic. But when nothing he built worked successfully without nearly killing him (permanently) in the process, Techrat began manipulating his clients into becoming guinea pigs for his gadgets. It was the only joy he got out of being forced to work with the Misfits.

When Misfits Music and Starlight Music began competing, Techrat had seriously considered hiring himself out to Jem and the Holograms, just to figure out how Jerrica Benton managed to pull off such a flawless holographic projection that only a Time Lord like Techrat would be able to see through. Perhaps he could use that power source to his benefit. He doubted it was terrestrial, as he was sure no feeble-minded human could have come up with such a thing. It was a chance meeting at a cafe that had connected Techrat with the Zygon commander Callor, who had been watching Starlight Music with equal interest. Techrat smelled an opportunity, and promptly offered his services to Callor in return for a ride off of earth. Callor's scheme was simple; use Eric Raymond's history with Jerrica Benton's father and former owner of Starlight Music to find the power source behind the Holograms' projections. The Zygons wanted to use it to rebuild their ship and, as an added bonus, take over this planet. Techrat simply wanted any chance to escape the planet that he could get, and he took every precaution to assure that the Zygons didn't suddenly leave him behind once they got what they wanted.

And so Techrat became, officially, the "secret weapon" of Eric Raymond. It had turned out to be a mistake, as the Misfits, whom Raymond managed, had no concept of personal space. And for reasons unknown to him, Techrat's first incarnation in exile was severely haphephobic. Perhaps it was because he was previously completely unfamiliar with humans, not knowing how they would respond if they knew he was an alien. If a human touched him, perhaps they would feel his double pulse (he had quickly learned that humans only have one heart). Perhaps they would lash out at him. It was better to keep to himself, and as he'd nursed his concerns, they had grown into a full-blown phobia of being touched. Not that the Misfits cared. In fact, they seemed to enjoy irritating Techrat by getting in his face, grabbing an edge of clothing, or, especially, playing with and breaking the various gadgets he cobbled together.

Techrat was not there to witness the change of power between the real Eric Raymond and General Callor. All he knew was that Raymond had sold half the studio to the Stingers. At first, Techrat had thought the move would be bad for everyone, as it meant three more insufferable musicians to constantly get in his way. But one of the German singers, a woman who called herself Minx, had shocked him with her genuine interest and prowess with machines. She was a genius, at least by human standards. And she was human; of that Techrat was certain. She had one heart, and what he had gathered from his minor telepathic probing (touch free, of course), she had human thought patterns. She used the left side of her brain much more frequently than the right—prompting Techrat to wonder if the left was the logical side of the brain in humans, as the right side was in Time Lords. Minx saw the same beauty in machines that Techrat did, and she was, astonishingly, very respectful of his requests not to touch his things without his express permission. She also had a desire to learn whatever he had to teach. And the first time their fingers accidentally met, Techrat was able to suppress the urge to pull his hand away and scream at her. That was a first for him in this incarnation, and certainly a first in his dealings with humans. He knew Minx's history with men from the way her band mates talked about her, and while she remained very flirtatious, Techrat was impressed enough by her to allow her to push the boundaries he had set.

The thought of Minx made Techrat pause. He could see the yellow glow of the lights illuminating the junkyard compound where he'd built his "rathole." He wondered if he should go back to his lab and stay there, waiting for the Stingers to return from their current tour, or if he should just gather some provisions and leave town altogether. After all, Minx was just another human, and she was probably using him just as he was using the Zygons. There was no future for the Stingers here, so Minx had no reason to stay. And even if her affection for Techrat was genuine and she insisted on staying with or without the band, she was still only human. And Techrat was already more than 40 times her age. He would outlive her dozens of times over, and that before taking his ability to regenerate into account. It wouldn't be worth breaking both his hearts to...

Techrat shook his head. He couldn't believe he was actually contemplating feelings for a human. Minx was a fleeting joy—an amusement, really—in an otherwise dismal existence, and she would never have lasted. No point in getting attached. Techrat decided the Doctor must be genuinely insane to continually expose himself to the heartache of losing friends whose lifespans were little more than fruit flies compared to his own.

His thoughts went back to the change of power between Raymond and Callor. He had found out the hard way that Callor was now masquerading as Raymond when "Raymond" came to the rathole demanding that Techrat step up his search for the Holograms' power source. Techrat had responded in his usual snide manner to the pompous idiot who was on the books as his employer, and he had quickly discovered that Zygon military officers cared not whether their underlings were haphephobic. For after sending the Time Lord flying across the room into one of the large computer monitors with one powerful blow, Callor's disguise melted away as he demanded Techrat show him some respect. Techrat had foolishly sneered at him, but all it had taken to subdue him was Callor pinning him down and covering his face with his tentacle-like hands. It normally took a lot to make a Time Lord hyperventilate, but Techrat's strength failed him against a larger opponent who had grown up on a planet of similar mass to his own, and Techrat's phobia kicked in very quickly. He was reduced to begging for mercy before Callor released him and demanded he get back to work. The memory made Techrat shudder even now. His ego alone prevented him from showing fear in Callor's presence, but afraid he was.

That's when he'd come up with the plan to sabotage the Zygons. He monitored Callor's activities, learning all he could through eavesdropping on the other alien's conversation with his subordinates. With the knowledge he gained about gases toxic to Zygons, Techrat rigged a timed release of one such gas from small capsules, which he planted in various vents around Raymond's office, as well as on the Zygons' ship whenever he managed to worm his way aboard. He also figured out how to rig the transmat between the ship and the office to blow if Callor tried to use it without Techrat there with him. The plan was to help Callor capture the power source he wanted, release the gas on the Zygon ship and commandeer the ship for himself. Unlike a TARDIS, the Zygon vessel had no genetic lock. Anyone could pilot such a ship if they knew how. And the controls, Techrat had learned, were very simple. If not a bit gooey.

And then the Doctor came along. A fellow Time Lord with a working TARDIS was by far Techrat's best opportunity to escape. And after recognizing the other Gallifreyan, Techrat had given Callor a brief history of the Doctor's time in the academy and his activities since leaving his homeworld (a story that required explaining the concept of regeneration to the disbelieving general). In turn, Techrat had learned that Callor's people had encountered the Doctor before, and thus Techrat knew the Doctor would probably be willing to help him betray the Zygons. Plus, having been exiled to earth at one point himself, the Doctor would surely be sympathetic to Techrat's plight.

Or so Techrat had thought.

The Doctor had proved himself to be just another arrogant member of the class of '92, as Techrat had accused him upon their meeting in Raymond's office. What Techrat had ever seen in the Doctor's friend Drax, also a member of the Doctor's class, the younger Time Lord didn't know and didn't care to remember at the moment. What he did care to dwell on was how close he had come to just taking the Doctor's TARDIS and escaping into the time vortex. He had been inside the police box. He had touched her console. He had heard her hum of disapproval and sent her a thought letting her know he didn't care what she thought of him or his disguised ally. And he was literally within inches of the door handle with the Holograms' power source—a segment of the Key to Time, the Doctor had called it—in his possession when he had been tackled by Rio and cornered by the Doctor's new groupies.

And now here he stood, at the door of his rathole, wearing a different face and stripped of everything but the striped shirt, loose tie and trench coat his last incarnation liked to wear. No connections, no TARDIS, no job, no dignity, nowhere to go.

Well, there was one place. One place on the planet he could hide. If he could just convince her he was still him.

With a sigh, Techrat brushed off the thought of his German associate and pushed his way into the rathole. Having just regenerated, he needed a good nap.

* * *

Minx laid down the paper and glanced out the window of the house she shared with her band mates. Riot was on the phone for the tenth time that day, trying to get the insurance company to pay out on his studio. But as he had bought Eric Raymond's half of it after the explosion, the company was fighting him on paying their due.

The headline on Minx's paper was over a week old, but she couldn't stop reading it. Officially the story was that someone had made an attempt on Eric Raymond's life, and Raymond had credited Jem and the Holograms, along with someone named Doctor John Smith, for saving his life and those of the Misfits (a story that had irritated Pizazz to confirm). Techrat had been neither seen nor heard from since, although Minx had learned that he was a suspect in the explosion, and had apparently injured the Holograms' stage manager in his attempt to evade justice. A warrant was out for his arrest, and this is what had Minx concerned. Techrat was the one man she genuinely cared about, though she wouldn't go so far as to say she was interested in a romantic relationship with the reclusive nerd. He was a unique challenge; different somehow from the other men she dated. Not Rio different. Just...different. He was a true genius, lightyears ahead of her, and she admired him for it. Could she trust him? According to the news he was dangerous; a would-be murderer. But could _she_ trust him?

Minx rose from her seat and headed toward the door. "Riot, liebchen, I am going for a run," she called. Riot waved at her absentmindedly, and Minx left the house.

She wasn't dressed for running, so she kept her pace to a casual jog. As she paused to rest at a favorite park a block or so from the house (a favorite because it was part of a gated community that was strictly off limits to fans and paparazzi), she noticed an unfamiliar face sitting on a bench, watching her intently. Annoyed, Minx decided to run this fan off. With a swivel of her hips, she strode up to the stranger, preparing to catch him off guard with her flirtatious nature.

The man rose to meet her. Minx couldn't help but admire his features. He was slightly shorter than Riot, with a head full of not-quite-black hair that hung down in his face. He had a nice jawline, a bit squared in shape, and his nose was just a touch on the long side. What struck Minx, however, were the eyes. They were hazel, Minx noted as she got closer, but something about them was strikingly familiar.

As Minx approached, the man shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat—the same style of coat Techrat wore, Minx thought. He gave her a shy, almost pleading look.

"Minx," he said cautiously.

"You are a fan, _ja?_ How did you get in here?" The singer crossed her arms and tapped a foot impatiently.

The man shrugged. "I'm good with locks, especially those controlled by computers." He looked her in the eye. "But then, you already knew that about me."

Minx gave him a confused look. "I don't even know who you are."

The man glanced around nervously before responding, "I know you aren't going to believe what I'm about to say, but I'm gonna say it anyway. It's me, Minx. Techrat."

Minx's face was now incredulous. Suddenly she burst out laughing. "You are a fool! You look nothing like Techrat, and even if you did, you would not be out in public! He's a wanted criminal!"

Techrat winced at that. He was certainly aware of the warrant out for his arrest, and even though he no longer looked a thing like the man on the posters, police cars still made him nervous.

"I'm serious, Minx," he implored. "Look, ask the Misfits or Eric Raymond. I'm...I'm not human. I'm from a planet called Gallifrey. I was hurt; I regenerated, and now I need your help."

"You really expect me to believe that?" Minx said, baffled at the man. "You need to be in an institution."

"You were the first human I let touch me," Techrat said suddenly, causing Minx's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "And now I'm going to allow you to do so again." He held out his left wrist, grabbing Minx's hand with his own right hand and placing her hand on his wrist. "Put your fingers there. Feel my pulse?"

Minx let out a gasp as she felt the distinctive dual beat of his hearts. She pulled her hand away and looked back at Techrat's face.

The eyes. Techrat's eyes had been steel blue, and these eyes had the distinctive bronze flecks that defined blue-green eyes as hazel. Yet Minx found a familiarity within them. It was the same man.

"What do you want?" she asked, somewhat coldly.

"A safe place to stay, just for a few days. I'll explain everything, although I don't expect you to believe me."

Minx pondered the bizarre situation. Finally she nodded. "Come, I will keep you safe for now. You are a wanted man." She turned and headed back in the direction of her house.

For the first time in over a week, Techrat allowed himself a small smile of relief as he followed the singer home. Things were finally looking up for the Time Lord.


End file.
